Come Back to Me
by C.G. Irvin
Summary: An answer to a plea, and an unspoken promise. Can he remember? Now updated and revised, corrected grammatical errors, et cetera! My lack of a proofreader was really telling in the first draft, and I apologize. Any reviews are deeply appreciated!


_Come back to me..._

He strained. It was dark, so very dark. And the pain - there was so much pain, a full-body glove of agony that enveloped him like water. It would be so easy to lay there, to just let it go, to rest...to finally rest. Hadn't he earned that? Hadn't he done everything that was required of him? It was done. The Reapers were gone. Whatever else happened, they were stopped. Never again would another race be harvested, never again would the cycle begin to spin again. He'd stopped it all, and now he just wanted sleep.

_Come back to me..._

His eyelids clenched, even that small movement sending a torturous lance of red-hot suffering through his brain, as that voice, soft, quiet almost to the point of inaudibility, kept him from his final repose. What was it? Who was it? It was hard to think, hard to remember..._hurt_ to think, to remember. Why couldn't they leave him be? Why couldn't they let him rest?

_Come back to me..._

A flash, a memory - hands, his hands, putting a small rock into...other, different hands. Slender. Gloved, three fingers. Warm. Female. Another memory now, or multiple ones, of those hands wringing themselves in a gesture of flustered nervousness. He cried out feebly inside himself as those remembrances came on, but though it hurt, pained him to be roused from his near-slumber, there was a warmth creeping in on the periphery of his suffering.

_Come back to me..._

A mask. He saw it, now - a faceless visor of near-opaque violet, unable to hide the nervousness, embarrassment, and...fear?...of the shining white eyes behind it. A voice, then - his own? - muffled as though by great distance, and even through the thick, polymer-glass of the visor, he saw relief bubble up in those glowing eyes.

_"...feel the same way..."_

Feel what? Was it...this? This warmth, slowly easing his pain? He strained, this time in an effort to pinpoint this feeling, and its source.

_Come back to me..._

Another memory, and he saw her in her entirety - her suit, with all its pockets and clamps, with its beautifully intricate, indigo hood, all purple mist and white whorls of smoke, that wrapped around her torso in so delicate a manner. She rambled, going on about music, and immunizations, and defense-mechanisms, and hands, scarred and rough, reached out to unclasp the visor...and then the vision faded, and he cried out again within the depths of his mind, cursing himself, cursing her, cursing whatever it was that was taunting him with these half-formed memories.

_Come back to me..._

He was standing on a rocky out-cropping, staring out at the Reaper - funny, how he remembered something he so dearly wished to forget, while he couldn't remember her - that pursued them, the reassuring weight of a targeting designator in his hands.

_"...worry too much."_

_"I love you."_

Love. Loved him? Had he loved her?

He had. He did. He loved her. He remembered that much, now, knew that that was the warmth that was seeping into his aching body like a hot bath, washing away enough of the pain for his thoughts to be coherent. But still, he couldn't remember _her_.

_Come back to me..._

He was trying! He was _trying_, damn it! At his side, a fist clenched, shooting a spike of pain up his arm, but he ignored it. The darkness was fading as the warmth grew and blossomed with him, and then, suddenly, in an explosion of light nearly blinding, it all came back to him. All of it, in a million memories, nearly breaking him.

_"...Tali'zorah nar Rayya..."_

_"Our Pilgrimage proves we are willing to give of ourselves..."_

_"Shepard...? You're...alive?"_

_"I wish my friends could see it...I wish Shepard were here."_

_"...how could she possibly develop any interest in him?"_

_"I've watched you for so long, and I never imagined you'd see past...this..."_

_"If you're ever...lonely..."_

_"...throws at us, I will be at your side..."_

_"I have a home..."_

_"Come back to me..."_

He felt the memories wash over him as he remembered it all, from start to finish - the shy Quarian girl with a core of strength inside her that few possessed. All the talks with her on the Normandy about her people, her culture. He remembered dying with regret in his heart and her name on his lips. He remembered coming back, and seeing her again for the first time. He remembered her trial, her tears over her father, her nervousness when he finally confronted her about her feelings, and his relief and joy when he finally found out what he felt was returned in full. He remembered the hours before what they had all thought then to be a suicide mission, and seeing her without her suit and visor for the first time - so human and yet so different at the same time. He remembered when they were forced to part ways upon his return to earth, and their reunion. He remembered it all.

_Come back to me..._

But most of all, he remembered her final words to him, her despaired plea for him to return. It rang within him like a bell, resonating with his soul and filling him with a strength and life he thought had left him. Suddenly, he knew he could not, would not, did not want to rest. Not yet. For her, not yet.

_Come back to me..._

And, amidst the rubble and darkness, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and opened his eyes.


End file.
